A September Morning at Grand Teton

 

Bugle calls roar

At the crack of dawn

As Elks trudge

The ancient meadow floor.

 

Startled, the frozen sagebrush,

Grayish green,

 Shake off the silvery frosts

That coat their coarse, hardy limbs.

 

Nearby, A bashful vapor of 

Rosy clouds,  hover at the foot

of the towering Teton, whose glaciers 

glitter like mirrors

 

To the pale moon

Retreating from night shift

While whispering Adios

Ever so reluctantly to the riverbank

 

As Aspen quaver in breeze,

its little round smiling faces,

Shower kisses to the morning

Of yellow and orange hue.

A world of my heavenly Father!